


there's no place i'd rather be

by trishapocalypse



Category: One Direction (Band), The 1975 (Band)
Genre: (kind of?), Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Comeplay, M/M, Pining, Stupid Boys being Stupid, bet fic!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:20:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1540817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishapocalypse/pseuds/trishapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“C’mon,” George encouraged, reaching into his pocket to pull out a crumbled wad of notes. “Fifty quid for you to stop pining over the curly-haired bartender and just fuck him.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> <br/>(Or: the one where George bets Matty to finally shag Harry, so he does, but things don't turn out quite how he expected.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's no place i'd rather be

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my One True Pal (purple heart emoji) because she deals with my constant text messages about how much Stealy got me fucked up. Also, this would've been out sooner but, uh, Robbers came out. And I'm still fucked up from that. So. Standard warnings apply: this never happened, hastily beta'd, all mistakes are mine, Matty's ruining my life, I love you, etc.
> 
> tumblr: @trishanthemum ! let's be pals~
> 
> (Also, this marks my One Year Anniversary posting 1D fic on here... Should I be proud of posting 38 fics in one year? ... =X Jury's out.)

“You’re mental,” Matty declared, shaking his head and taking a sip of the mixed drink he held in his hand. It was strong, a little stronger than normal, and Matty knew he had the gorgeous bartender to thank for that—thank you _very much._

George grinned and looked between the lads. “C’mon, s’just a game,” he said, his words slurred just a little bit from the amount of whiskey and weed in his system. And they were lucky, the lot of them, that they were regulars; the staff usually looked the other way whenever George lit up a spliff.

“It’s awful,” Adam pointed out, reaching over and plucking the fag from George’s hand and taking a quick puff. “You’re an awful human being.”

George shrugged, still grinning, and looked back over to Matty. “Well?”

“I see him all the time, George, it’ll be weird—“ Matty started.

“Weird? You’ve probably fucked half the people in this pub, mate, which, y’know, he’s probably aware of. You need to find a better excuse.”

Matty frowned. “George—“

“Fifty quid,” George said, doubling his previous offer. 

“Pick someone else,” Matty grumbled.

George laughed. “No, mate, we’ve been watching you pine over him—“

“I’ve not been _pining,_ you wanker—“ Matty interrupted.

“—for weeks, months, whatever, it doesn’t matter. Go chat him up, take him home, shag him, get him out of your system,” George told him. “Fifty quid.”

Matty sighed, glancing over at Ross from the corner of his eye. “He’s never gonna let this go, is he?”

Ross shook his head, reaching over to pat Matty on the back. “Never.”

“C’mon,” George encouraged, reaching into his pocket to pull out a crumbled wad of notes. “Fifty quid for you to stop pining over the curly-haired bartender and just fuck him.”

Matty pursed his lips and blamed the alcohol, that was the only _logical_ excuse, and he nodded. “Alright, fine,” he said, downing the rest of his drink in one gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. And it was the alcohol, was definitely the alcohol that had his head swimming; it definitely _wasn’t_ the pining or anything else, because Matty was actively _not_ pining. 

George laughed, slapping a hand down on the table. “Are you for real?”

Matty didn’t say anything; he sent the lads a little salute before standing from the booth and slowly making his way over to the bar. And he didn’t have a plan, not really; he’d never exactly needed one before. It wasn’t that people fell over themselves to have sex with Matty, but…he never really had to _try._ He approached the bar slowly, sliding into a stool and resting his forearms across the top, waiting for the curly-haired lad to turn around; when he did, Matty sent him a soft smile. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“You’re drunk, Matty,” Harry said with a quirk of his eyebrow. “More than usual.”

Matty grinned. “Not that drunk. You make my drinks, you would know,” he teased, sending him a wink. “You know my name, eh?”

Harry blushed a little bit, shrugging. “Well, you do play here every now and then.”

“I know that…Harry,” he added at the end, watching the way Harry’s cheeks flushed from a light pink to even darker, the way the younger lad tipped his head down to avoid Matty’s eyes. 

“So you know my name, eh?” Harry joked, reaching for Matty’s empty glass and filling it up again.

Matty shrugged, still grinning. 

“Remember all your bartenders?” he asked with the same teasing tone, but something underlying it that Matty couldn’t place. 

“Only the gorgeous ones,” Matty told him, reaching for his glass and taking a drink. 

“Of course,” Harry drawled, rolling his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something else when another patron down the way caught his eye. He held up a hand, signaling that he would be right back, before he stepped away. 

Matty let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and took another drink, trying to steady out his heart rate. It didn’t work, not really, because Harry walked back over, running a hand through his curls, and Matty was _done._ Yeah, that, _that_ was the exact reason why he _pined,_ or whatever George said, because Harry made him bloody nervous. 

“Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly, shifting from foot to foot in front of Matty. “Do—Do you want a drink?” he asked.

Matty let out a little huff of laughter and shook his head, lifting his glass to his lips. “Already took care of that, babe.”

“Oh,” Harry said, frowning, cheeks flushing. “I, uh—“

“So I feel like we don’t really… _talk,_ yeah?” Matty interrupted with an embarrassing little hiccup, and he reached up to cover his mouth, letting out a quiet curse.

Harry grinned. “Probably because we don’t,” he confirmed, busying himself with wiping down the top of the bar. 

“Right, you’re usually off doing...whatever it is that you do.”

“Working?” Harry offered with a smile.

“That,” Matty said with a snap of his fingers. “What’s up with that?”

Harry laughed, taking a step away to slide another beer down the bar top towards another one of his regulars. “Gotta make a living. Not all of us can be in a brilliant band, y’know.”

Matty smiled, looking down at his hands. “Not that brilliant.”

“Kind of, yeah,” Harry said with the shrug of one shoulder, the hem of his white v-neck riding up to expose his hip.

Matty swallowed, forcing himself to _look the fuck away,_ Christ. “So, uh, how—how old are you?” he stuttered, wincing at himself for how bloody _drunk_ he sounded, and he wasn’t even drunk. Fucking nerves, fucking _George,_ actually—Matty was almost positive it was all his fault. 

“Eighteen.”

“Hmm,” Matty nodded because, fuck, he was just a _kid._ But he wasn’t, not really, like—yeah, sure, he _looked_ like a kid with his big curly hair and dimples and green eyes and— Matty shook his head. “What, um, what do—do you do?”

Harry grinned and rested his forearms on top of the bar, leaning over until he was halfway across, still giving Matty room to move away if he wanted to. “Is this normally how you try to pick someone up?”

“Wha—“

“Not that you’re trying to pick me up,” Harry added quickly, cheeks flushing. “Just—Is this you flirting?”

Matty paused, thinking it over for a minute. “I don’t even know,” he answered honestly. “I…usually don’t have to try this hard,” he admitted.

Harry laughed loudly, reaching for Matty’s glass and taking a drink. “Can’t imagine that you have to try at all,” he told him with a smile, the dimple in his left cheek deepening. 

“I’m usually a lot smoother at picking people up,” Matty confided in a mock stage whisper, pushing his glass to the side and leaning a little further over the top of the bar. 

“Is that what you’re trying to do?” Harry asked.

“Trying,” Matty agreed, running a hand over his hair and leaning in until they were only centimeters apart. “How am I doing?”

Harry shrugged, a noncommittal sound leaving his lips. “I feel like you’re holding back on me.”

Matty nodded slowly. “Might be the lack of alcohol in my system. My bartender’s been watering down my drinks all night.”

Harry laughed. “I have not! I usually make them stronger because I like the way you laugh when you’ve been drinking,” he said before he could stop himself. Harry’s eyes widened and he went to take a step back, pausing when Matty’s fingers slid around his wrist, tugging him forward so he couldn’t move away. 

“Who knew my bartender was such a romantic,” Matty teased, the corners of his lips quirking upward. 

Harry tried to fight his smile, but he couldn’t help it, just like he couldn’t help the way his cheeks were flushing and, fuck, he wasn’t exactly _smooth_ either. 

Matty’s fingertips traced over the skin of Harry’s wrist, across the anchor inked into his skin, across the jut of bone, before curling around him gently. He could feel Harry’s pulse jump and he bit his lip, tightening his hold just a little bit, just enough to hear a sharp gasp leave Harry’s lips. He smiled, just a little bit, and leaned in some more until their noses were nearly touching. “How am I doing now?” he asked, eyes dropping to Harry’s lips, his voice low.

Harry swallowed, staring at Matty’s lips until he heard a loud whooping from behind him. He went to move again, but Matty kept his hold tight on his wrist. 

Matty groaned. “Fucking George,” he grumbled, lifting a hand to flip off his best mate without turning around. 

“Oi!” Niall shouted, walking behind the bar and flipping a towel towards Harry’s bum, shaking him out of his reverie. 

“Shit, Ni,” Harry muttered, taking a step back and jerking his wrist out of Matty’s grasp. “Sorry.”

Niall grinned. “I can cover for you if you two want to, y’know, get out of here,” he offered with a laugh, eyes shining bright, wiggling his eyebrows obnoxiously.

Harry flushed. “It’s not—He’s not—“

“I am, actually,” Matty corrected with a smile. 

Harry sucked his lower lip into his mouth, eyeing Matty from the corner of his eye. “I should, um, get back to work,” he said quietly. 

Matty nodded. “S’alright. I can wait. I’m patient,” he said with a shrug. 

“Yeah,” Harry trailed off, taking a step back. He cursed and flailed as he tripped over something behind the bar, nearly falling, and Niall reached out to steady him.

“Alright?” Niall asked.

Harry nodded, cheeks burning, as he scurried off to the other side of the bar. 

Matty just smiled and watched, totally endeared and completely infatuated with everything about Harry. He pointedly ignored Niall’s eyes until he felt the Irishman look away, and he sucked in a deep breath. His mobile vibrated in his pocket, and he checked it only to see a text from George with a multitude of thumbs up and kissy-face emojis; he rolled his eyes before exiting the message and messing around on twitter for a bit. He just wanted to kill some time until Harry was off, was ready to leave. George messaged him again with an emoji of money flying away and the message, _ya actually have to fuck him to get the fifty quid! not just flirt, ya wanker!_

Matty groaned and messaged him back, telling him to fuck off in true best mate fashion, and shoved his mobile aside. It wasn’t—It wasn’t even _about_ the fifty quid anymore; Matty could’ve cared less about the money. It was about _Harry,_ about how the stupid bet had been just the kick in the arse he needed, and he had no idea why the hell he had waited so long to actually strike up a conversation with the lad, anyway. He supposed it didn’t matter, not really, and he knew he would tell George the next morning that the bet was off, to keep his dirty money—or, well, maybe he could keep it and take Harry out, whatever. 

“He’s leaving, y’know.”

Matty shook his head and looked up at Niall, eyes wide. “Hmm?”

Niall nodded towards the back of the pub where Harry was lingering, looking down at his boots and shoving his mobile into his pocket. “He’s leaving.”

“Shit,” Matty grumbled, jumping off the barstool. “Thanks.”

“Hey,” Niall said, causing Matty to stop in his tracks, eyes wide. “He’s my best mate, yeah? Standard warnings apply—hurt him and I’ll kill you. I’ll poison your drink before you go on stage, make sure you foam at the mouth in front of everyone, yeah?”

Matty smiled a little bit. “Good lookin’ out,” he told him before rushing around the back of the bar and catching up with Harry just as he stepped out of the pub. “Trying to run away?”

Harry laughed softly, shaking his head. “No, um, just…got distracted in my own head, sorry.”

“Gotta be dangerous with that whole thinking thing,” Matty teased, nudging him in the side. “You see what happened to Keroauc and Bukowski.”

“No, I didn’t. What happened?” 

Matty didn’t even waste a breath before diving in, explaining his favorite writers in such detail that it took him a minute or two before he realized Harry was laughing, his eyes shining as he stopped in front of an old beat up Volvo. Matty scoffed, shaking his head, and he leaned against the side of the car. “You were joking.”

Harry nodded, taking a step closer until the toes of their boots were touching. 

“That’s—That’s not every nice,” Matty stammered. 

“Shame,” Harry pouted. “Everyone always thinks I’m nice.”

Matty smiled, looking down at his boots, how they were touching Harry’s, and it was… _nice._

“Hey.”

Matty glanced up at him, wishing he wasn’t leaning against the car so he was at least on the same level as Harry; looking up at him was weird, felt weird, like Harry could…see into his soul or something equally as stupid and clichéd. “Hey.”

“I like hearing you talk,” Harry said quietly.

“I talk too much.”

Harry nodded. “You do. I like that.”

“Especially when I’m nervous,” Matty admitted, though he didn’t know _why._ Fuck, why wasn’t he just…smooth? Fuck. 

Harry smiled, tilting his head to the side as he studied Matty for a moment. 

Matty reached out for Harry’s wrist again, fingers curling around the soft skin and pressing down against his pulse. 

“So…” Harry trailed off, shuffling his feet and knocking his boots against Matty’s. 

“Yeah.”

“Not so talkative now,” Harry commented, kicking at Matty’s foot until he moved to the side so he could step closer.

Matty shook his head, pushing off of Harry’s car and crowding against him, eyes falling to his Harry’s again. “I don’t…wanna talk anymore.”

“Okay,” Harry said with a nod.

“Yeah,” Matty agreed before leaning in and kissing Harry. And it was—it was everything a first kiss _should_ be; it was soft and gentle, controlled without being demanding. Matty could feel Harry’s fingers curl around his bicep, holding on, and Matty made himself pull away for a second to catch his breath. 

Harry’s tongue darted out to trace his lips, brushing across Matty’s in the process, and he smiled. “Much better than talking,” he whispered.

Matty nodded. “Fuck, yes,” he agreed breathlessly, curling his fingers around the front of Harry’s plaid button-up, pulling him in for another kiss. Matty slid his hands up the length of Harry’s chest, twining his arms around his neck and dragging him closer; Harry slumped against him, fingers digging into the hem of Matty’s jeans, long fingers curling underneath the fabric, hot against Matty’s skin. Matty pushed his hips forward, using the momentum to turn Harry around and press him against his car; a little gasp escaped Harry’s lips, his mouth falling open easily, and Matty’s tongue darted out, barely touching Harry’s lips. 

Harry whimpered as Matty pushed him back against the car, the side mirror digging painfully into his side, and he didn’t even _care._ He stilled almost entirely as Matty’s mouth slanted over his, kissing him so thoroughly that Harry nearly forgot his own name. He pressed his thumbs into Matty’s hips, feeling Matty’s fingers slide through his curls, and he wanted more, _needed_ more. He pressed closer, as close as he could, and he wasn’t even embarrassed that he was already hard, cock straining against the zip of his jeans as he angled closer to Matty. 

Matty’s hips jerked forward and he slid his hands down to Harry’s chin, cupping his jaw as he pulled away; he nipped at Harry’s lower lip until he whined, smoothing over it with his tongue, pulling away with a small grin. “Fuck, why did I wait so long to kiss you?”

Harry shook his head, eyes nearly shut, his brain more than a little foggy; he steadied himself by holding onto Matty’s hips and he tried to lean in to kiss him again. “Don’t know,” he muttered, “just do it again.”

Matty chuckled, sliding his fingers down the side of Harry’s neck and back up again, angling his chin upward. He leaned in, kissing him slowly, licking into his mouth until he felt Harry’s arms circle his waist, until he felt Harry shudder against him. “Come back to mine?” Matty whispered against his lips.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed easily, eyes slipping shut as Matty pressed his lips against his jaw, down the side of his neck, sucking a dark bruise that had Harry’s pulse racing. He whined as Matty rocked his hips forward, forcing back a moan as he felt Matty’s cock press against his own, and he wanted nothing more than to be in his bedroom or Matty’s bedroom or anywhere _private._

“Keys?” Matty prompted, lips brushing across his sensitive skin.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find his words, but he couldn’t.

“Harry?” Matty said with a grin, nosing up his neck, across his jaw, barely brushing their lips together. “Keys?”

“Fuck,” Harry whispered. “Pocket, in my pocket.”

Matty laughed softly, slipping a hand into Harry’s pocket with minimal struggle, and he felt Harry jerk, heard a curse leave his lips, and he smiled just a little bit wider.

Harry’s head fell forward onto Matty’s shoulder, his breathing heavy. “Other pocket.”

Matty hummed, fingers brushing over the front of Harry’s jeans before dipping into his other pocket and retrieving his keys. He massaged the back of Harry’s neck before pulling him away and leaning in a little bit, just breathing Harry in, and fuck, Harry was so responsive, lips parting and just _waiting_ for Matty to make the next move. “Want me to drive?”

“Yeah,” Harry whimpered, nodding feverishly, “please.”

“Alright,” Matty agreed with a smile, slapping at Harry’s bum and pointing towards the car. “Hop in.” He climbed behind the wheel as Harry slid in next to him, rubbing his palms up and down his thighs. He started the car before digging his mobile out of his pocket and sending a quick text to George.

_bet’s off, mate._

 

+

 

Harry nearly tripped over his own feet as he followed Matty down the hall and into his bedroom; Matty’s fingers were tight around his wrist, pulling him along, and Harry went willingly. Matty pulled him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, and Harry’s heart was racing in his chest as Matty crowded against him, pinning him to the door and pressing their lips together. 

Matty reached for Harry’s jeans, fumbling a little before getting them unbuttoned and slipping his hand into Harry’s pants. Harry cursed against his lips and Matty grinned, nipping at Harry’s jaw, palming him slowly. Harry’s hips jerked forward and Matty walked them backwards for a step or two before pushing Harry against his dresser; he hissed in pain and Matty swallowed the sound, wrapping his fingers around the back of Harry’s neck. 

Harry let out a whimper of Matty’s name, pushing his hips forward into the palm of his hand, rubbing shamelessly against him. He twisted his fingers in Matty’s hair, tugging and pulling at the strands as Matty nosed the side of his neck before making his way down to Harry’s inked collarbone, biting and marking the pale skin. Harry groaned, his hips stuttering as he cursed and came over Matty’s hand, cheeks flushing. “Fuck, I—I’m so—“

“Ssh,” Matty whispered against his lips, lifting his hand to tap a fingertip against Harry’s lips, smiling. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Harry smiled softly, grabbing Matty’s wrist and sliding his tongue across his fingers, tasting himself. He watched Matty’s eyes widen, fixated on his mouth, and Harry moaned, nipping at Matty’s fingertips. 

“Fuck,” he breathed out, heart hammering in his chest. “Definitely not done with you yet.”

“Good,” Harry said with a grin, dropping Matty’s hand and wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him in and laughing at his mouth. 

Matty slid his hands around the back of Harry’s thighs, lifting him up onto the dresser as he kissed him. Harry moved his hands from Matty’s neck, started fumbling with his jeans, desperate to get as close to him as possible. Matty pulled away long enough to grip the front of Harry’s flannel, pushing it off of his shoulders, and he reached for the bottom of his white shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. 

Harry shivered, just slightly, hands falling from Matty’s waist as he sucked in a deep breath. Matty tugged his own jumper off, tossing it behind him and reclaiming Harry’s lips with his own. Harry practically melted against his chest, letting Matty drag him closer, and he nearly fell off of the dresser, giggling a little bit against Matty’s lips. 

Matty turned Harry around, walking him backwards towards his bed, the shitty, lumpy little mattress in the corner of the room. Harry’s giggles turned into full-blown laughter as Matty pushed him back onto the mattress, reaching for his jeans. “Next time, don’t wear trousers so tight,” Matty grumbled, pulling Harry’s boots off and tossing them aside, his jeans and pants quickly following. 

Harry smiled, reaching behind his head to fluff up the pillows, and he watched Matty shove his own jeans down his thighs, kicking them away. “Next time?”

Matty rolled his eyes, climbing on top of Harry and rocking their hips together; Harry’s eyes fluttered shut and Matty grinned, leaning down to kiss his nose. “Next time,” he affirmed, capturing his lips and kissing him slowly.

Harry’s back arched off of the mattress, his thighs falling open easily as Matty moved against him. Harry could feel his prick fattening up, and all he wanted was more, more, _more;_ he just couldn’t get enough of Matty. “Matty, Matty,” Harry choked out, forcing himself to pull away. “C’mon,” he whined. 

“Impatient, are ya?” Matty teased, running a hand down Harry’s chest and pinching at his nipple. Matty’s cock throbbed painfully against his stomach when he heard the needy little whimper escape Harry’s lips at the movement, and he rubbed his thumb across the tight little bud, watching Harry’s cheeks and chest flush. With a grin, he leaned down and took Harry’s other nipple into his mouth, laving it over with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth; Harry’s hips arched as he panted, fingers tightening in Matty’s hair and he whispered for _more, Matty, fuck, more._ Matty laughed softly, pulling away with a soft _pop,_ sitting up on his knees and running his hands up and down the length of Harry’s chest. “Next time,” Matty started, eyes landing on Harry’s lips that were swollen and parted and so very pink, and he reached up and touched them lightly, just rubbing his thumb along the corner of his mouth, “I’m gonna come all over your pretty little face.”

Harry let out an involuntary moan at the thought, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and he nodded. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked, heart thumping in his chest at the slightly dazed look on Harry’s face, the way his eyes went a little glassy, cheeks flushing as he nodded like there was nothing else in the world he wanted more. “But for now, think I’m just gonna fuck you good and proper yeah?”

“Please,” Harry said with another nod, his mess of curls fanning out across the pillow. 

Matty reached over Harry, fumbling around the drawer of his nightstand before finding the bottle of lube he had stashed there, opening it and spreading it liberally across his fingers. He swore he heard Harry whine at the sight and, as he leaned back on his haunches, he swore he had never seen such a beautiful sight as Harry beneath him, legs spread, open and waiting. He swallowed heavily, the weight of the moment nearly crushing him, and he pressed his fingers against Harry’s rim, rubbing across him slowly.

“Matty,” Harry whispered, eyes heavy, and he reached out to trail his fingers across Matty’s forearm, soothing.

Matty’s eyes fluttered shut briefly, the motion grounding him, and he pressed in, two fingers slipping inside and a loud groan escaped Harry’s lips. His fingers tightened around Matty’s forearm, encouraging, and Matty watched, transfixed, as Harry rocked his hips down. It was as if something inside of Matty broke then and he fucked Harry faster with his fingers, adding a third without realizing, and Harry’s loud groans turned into pathetic little whimpers, cheeks flushing and tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. 

“Matty, Matty, Matty,” Harry chanted, hips arching weakly off of the bed, “c’mon, wanna feel you.” 

Matty bit his lower lip, watching Harry’s cock throb against his stomach, a little smear of precome lining his abs. He slowly withdrew his fingers, lips parting in a silent gasp as he watched Harry’s hole flutter around him, and he reached around blindly, searching for the lube, desperate to feel every inch of Harry that he could. He slicked himself up quickly and guided himself towards Harry’s hole, rubbing the head of his cock against his rim, smearing a mixture of lube and precome around him. 

Harry whined, slapping lazily, weakly at his arm. “Matty—“

“Shh,” he whispered, rubbing himself across Harry’s rim, delighted with the sounds leaving Harry’s lips, the way his hips arched off the bed, trying to take in more of Matty, trying to take whatever he could. He slowly pushed the head of his cock in, hesitating just briefly, feeling overwhelmed and consumed by everything _Harry,_ before sliding in all the way, hips meeting Harry’s arse, and a sigh escaping him. 

Harry’s mouth parted in a silent gasp, body stilling as Matty slowly rocked into him, grinding their hips together. And Harry had fucked before, quite a few times, but he was positive it had never been so _intense,_ so mind-numbingly wonderful, and he felt…full. He slipped his hand from Matty’s forearm to his hand, only a little surprised when Matty laced their fingers together, pressing his hand back against the bed as he started to fuck into him a little harder, a little faster. 

Matty heard Harry sigh his name and he leaned down, brushing their lips together in a bruising kiss, hips snapping forward. He cursed as he felt Harry pulse around him and he felt completely and utterly overwhelmed, losing himself in the sensation. He reached for Harry’s hip, fingers digging in, bruising, as he fucked into him; Harry threw his head back, arm reaching up and pressing his palm flat against the wall, trying to hold himself steady from the force of Matty’s thrusts. 

“Matty—Matty, _fuck,_ ” Harry keened as Matty pulled his hips further off the bed, changing the angle, the head of his cock nudging against Harry’s prostate with each thrust. Harry rocked his hips, grinding down against him, fingers tightening around Matty’s. “M’gonna—Fuck—“

“Fuck,” Matty cursed, releasing Harry’s hip in favor of grabbing his cock, jerking him off roughly in time with his thrusts. He felt Harry’s orgasm more than anything else, felt the younger boy clench around him, a cry of Matty’s name leaving his lips as he came. And Matty’s hips snapped forward, a little grunt escaping him as he came, his heart hammering in his chest. 

Harry let out a string of curses as he reached out for Matty, running a hand over his hair, pushing his curls away from his face. He smiled softly, a little laugh leaving him, and he just felt _amazing._

Matty pulled out slowly, not missing the slight hiss of pain that Harry tried to hide, and he watched as a little bit of his spunk painted the inside of Harry’s thighs. He collapsed against Harry’s side, sliding his fingers into his hair and pulling him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tongues sliding together as Harry curled against him. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against Harry’s lips. 

Harry giggled, slipping a leg between Matty’s, trying to get closer, trying to crawl into his skin the way Matty had crawled into his heart. “You, too,” he said lamely, cheeks flushing, and he ducked his head, trying to hide against the front of Matty’s neck. 

Matty let him for a moment, running a hand over the back of his neck, between his shoulder blades, and down the length of his back. He let his hand trail over Harry’s arse, rubbing a finger between his cheeks to soothe his rim, and Harry hissed, pushing his hips back. Matty tucked his thumb inside his rim, rubbing softly, and he pressed a kiss to the top of Harry’s head. 

“That was…” Harry trailed off, finally pulling away and looking up at Matty from under his eyelashes. He squirmed backwards against Matty’s hand, the feeling overwhelming and amazing and he wanted more, always wanted more when Matty was involved.

“Yeah,” Matty agreed with a soft smile; he removed his hand, lightly patting Harry’s bum, before reaching down and pulling a blanket over their bodies. 

Harry grinned widely, rolling onto his back and pulling Matty on top of him. 

Matty watched Harry for a couple of seconds, or maybe a couple of minutes, he wasn’t sure, and he brushed the back of his knuckles across Harry’s cheek. “I think you’ve ruined everyone else for me,” he admitted softly.

Harry felt his cheeks flush as he nodded, still grinning. “Me, too.”

 

+

 

Harry woke up the next morning to the sound of slow and steady clapping, a low whistle, and he groaned, pulling the blanket over his eyes. “Make it stop,” he grumbled, turning over and curling against Matty’s chest in an attempt to hide from the world and sunlight and noise.

Matty wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist, pressing his lips to his forehead. He cracked one eye open, looking at George. “What?”

“Thought you said the bet was off, mate,” George said with a grin. 

Harry froze.

Matty’s heart _dropped._ “George—“

“Bet?” Harry asked softly, ripping the blanket away from his face and looking up at Matty. He could feel it in his chest, then, like something was ripping straight through him; no longer did he feel the rush of adoration towards three-am-Matty who waxed poetic about Harry’s eyes and dimples and lips, who whispered how beautiful he was when he came, and he felt like he was going to vomit. 

“No, it’s—“ Matty started, trailing off, knowing no matter what he said, it wouldn’t be the right thing. 

George pursed his lips and shrugged, looking down at his boots. 

Harry could practically feel his heart clench in his chest as he finally registered the words leaving George's lips. "How much?" he found himself asking softly as he sat up, the thin blanket falling from his shoulder and pooling in his lap.

"Harry—" Matty started, sitting up and pushing his hair out of his face. He reached out for Harry's shoulder, only to have him jerk away.

"How _much_?" Harry repeated, looking over his shoulder and fixing Matty with a steady glare, eyes narrowed.

Matty shook his head. "It's not like that," he whispered. "C'mon, it was stupid. Let me—Let me _explain,_ " he pleaded, reaching out for him again.

"No," Harry said, slapping Matty's hand away. He pushed the sheet aside and stood up, not caring that he was completely naked in front of two people he hardly knew, and started looking around Matty's bedroom for his clothes.

"Harry, please," Matty tried again, something twisting in his chest and his stomach as he watched Harry walk around his room, trying to find his clothes. His gut twisted as he watched the long, pale line of Harry's legs as he pulled on his ridiculously tight jeans without even searching for his pants. Matty could still see the faint bruises along his hips, across the back of his thighs, and he swore that, if he looked close enough, he could've seen traces of his spunk on the inside of Harry's pale little thighs. His chest did something weird, then, as Harry pulled on the first shirt he found—definitely Matty's and not his own, but Matty didn't even try to stop him. "Harry—"

"How much?" Harry asked again, this time aiming his question towards George and not meeting Matty's eyes.

George shrugged and leaned against the wall by Matty's door; he was almost impressed with Harry—almost. "Fifty quid."

Harry scoffed, pulling his boots on and running his fingers through his tangled curls, wincing a little at the pull on his scalp, even though it was nothing compared to the way Matty—he stopped himself right there and finished shoving his mobile, wallet, and keys into his pocket. "Fuck you," Harry grumbled, pushing past George and making his way to the front door of their flat.

Matty pushed the sheet aside and jumped out of bed, ignoring George's cry to _put some clothes on, Christ,_ and followed Harry, stopping him before he could reach the door. "Harry, please, it was stupid—"

"Yes, it was," Harry agreed, trying to step past Matty to get to the door.

"I shouldn't have done it, I _know,_ but I was pissed and—"

"Shut up."

"—I never should've agreed to it—"

"Shut. Up."

"—Harry, I'm sorry, I feel awful—"

"Shut _up,_ " Harry snapped, pushing Matty away and opening the front door. "Fuck you," he whispered, willing himself _not_ to cry in front of Matty, that was _the last_ thing he needed, and he nearly ran out of the flat, slamming the door shut behind him.

Matty stared at the door for a few moments, frozen in place. "Fuck," he sighed, hanging his head; he had _really_ fucked up. It took him a few moments before he made his way back into his room, falling into his sheets that still smelled like the citrus shampoo that Harry used, and he found himself pulling the pillow closer, breathing in deep. He heard George shut his door quietly and he looked up to see that George had placed the money on his dresser, and his stomach twisted _again._ With a groan, he pulled his blanket over his head and tried to sleep, hoping that, when he woke, the guilt would be gone.

 

+

(It wasn't.)

 

+

 

Harry was _pining;_ he was miserable and grouchy and didn’t want anything to do with anyone. He changed shifts at the pub and found any and every reason to avoid the building whenever Matty had a set. And he’d done a decent job, really, of avoiding him for two whole weeks. Though, really, he believed Niall was conspiring against him when he walked in for an early shift one day to see Matty sitting at the bar, head in his hands, and Niall serving him a drink. Harry frowned and spun around on his heel, pushing for the door, when Niall yelled out to him.

“Harry, wait, hang on!” Niall ran out from behind the bar, quicker than Harry had ever seen, and grabbed his arm. 

“I wanna go, Ni,” he muttered, looking down at his boots. 

“Just give him a mo, yeah? He’s real torn up.”

Harry scoffed. “Yeah? So am I,” he grumbled.

Niall nodded, rubbing Harry’s arm. “I know. Just… You’ve been pining for weeks-months if you count all the whining you did before—“

“Hey,” Harry protested with a pout. “Thought you were on my side.”

“I am,” Niall told him. “Just hear the lad out. What he did was awful, yeah? But it’s done. And he’s here trying to make up for it. I think that says a lot about him. If it was just a shag, just something for money, he wouldn’t give a fuck. He’d be on to the next one in no time. But he’s here, looing for you; been here every night for almost two weeks,” he explained. “So just…hear him out.”

Harry frowned and reluctantly followed Niall over to the bar, slumping down in a barstool about three seats away from Matty, facing forward and crossing his arms in front of him. 

Matty looked over at him, then up at Niall who held his hands up and left the bar, walking to the other side of the pub to wipe down tables. Matty looked back over at Harry before standing up and moving closer to him, sitting next to him; he didn’t miss how Harry flinched a little, tried to move away, and he reached out for his wrist. He expected Harry to pull away, jerk his hand back, but he didn’t, and Matty took a little bit of solace in that as he wrapped is fingers around Harry’s wrist, thumb resting against his pulse. “I think I’ve wanted to kiss you since you started working here. No, well, I _know_ I have. But I’m fucked up, and you’re kind of perfect, and I didn’t want to drag you down with me,” he said with a shrug. “So I stayed away, pined, _whatever,_ because I didn’t think anything could ever happen.”

Harry sniffed, pursing his lips and still looking ahead, refusing to meet Matty’s eyes. 

“And George is a wanker, thought he was being helpful; thought the only way I would ever make a move would be to, I don’t know, dare me or whatever. You know how lads are,” he said with a weak grin, smoothing his fingers over the skin of Harry’s wrist. 

“Obviously not, because I would never make a bet with a mate to have them fuck someone,” Harry whispered. 

“The bet was _off,_ H,” Matty insisted. “I texted George before we even got to my flat that the bet was off. I didn’t—I didn’t want that, like. Fuck the money, alright? I just wanted _you._ I thought… I thought we had a chance, yeah? And I didn’t want that hanging over us.”

“Good call,” Harry scoffed. 

Matty ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Harry. I feel like shit. I never meant to hurt you—that was the _last_ thing I ever wanted. If I just wanted a shag, I would’ve asked you to leave the minute we were done; I wouldn’t have stayed up for hours asking you about your favorite band, the last book you read, where you would travel if you had all the money in the world, or... I wouldn’t have let you _stay.\,_ ” he said simply.

Harry swallowed and he could feel himself giving in, knew it was only a matter of time, because Niall was right—Matty was _there_ and apologizing and he actually gave a fuck. And Harry wanted it, he wanted it all, he wanted to give it a shot, make it last; he wanted to stay up until four am while Matty chain-smoked out the window, rambling on about his favorite books and fucking with his guitar. He wanted Matty’s hair in his mouth when he woke up in the morning because they were sharing the same pillow, even though Matty had at least four on his shitty little mattress. Harry wanted to make Matty breakfast even when he pouted and said he wasn’t a morning person, didn’t eat breakfast, just needed a fag and some tea. Harry wanted it _all._

“I want you to stay,” Matty decided, pressing into Harry’s wrist and feeling his pulse speed up. “I want you.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek and slowly flipped his palm over, instantly lacing his fingers with Matty and squeezing his hand. “I want—“ he trailed off, shaking his head.

“Whatever you want, H, it’s yours,” he insisted. “Just—don’t ignore me, yeah? I can’t—I can’t _do_ radio silence, not from you.”

“I want,” Harry started again, pausing to take a deep breath. “I want you to use the fifty quid on our first date. I want flowers and an expensive steak. And I want you to wear that awful floral shirt you had lying on the floor that I made fun of.”

Matty smiled, could feel laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Flowers _and_ a steak? You’ve got quite a list of demands, H.”

Harry grinned, shrugging one shoulder. “Think I rather deserve it, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he agreed easily. “Flowers and a steak, it’s all yours,” he promised, standing up and crowding into Harry’s space, breathing him in. “Am I forgiven?”

“And the floral shirt?”

With a smile, Matty nodded, releasing Harry’s hand in favor of brushing his curls out of his face. “And the floral shirt in exchange for forgiveness.”

Harry smiled and leaned in, brushing their lips together. “Seems like a fair trade to me.”


End file.
